


Five Kisses

by TheArtsDemon



Category: The Three Musketeers (2011), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtsDemon/pseuds/TheArtsDemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keep your friends close and your enemies closer; intimately so. Glimpses into the latest French/English liaisons told in five(ish) kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> No plot, vaguely AU, some historical mincing occurs. Character/Pairing sketch, but with words. Some third explanation which boils down to "because I am obsessed with this pairing and I really wanted to". Enjoy!

The first kiss was rough. The duke taunted and teased, until Athos’ lips stifled his words. “Shut up,” he growled, and became the vice which pinned Buckingham firmly against the wall. Athos felt his warmth then, his heartbeat, and the trepidation of a threshold he could never uncross. His tongue forced Buckingham’s eloquence down to nothing more than muffled groans, and their sound chased away any thoughts of regret. The Englishman tasted like plums and cream, and every flavour of abundance a nobleman’s purse could buy. Eventually Buckingham freed himself, and his eyes glared daggers. For the first time in the history of their acquaintance he did not say a single word. Instead his fingers laced themselves into the musketeer’s hair, and pulled Athos back in.

The second kiss was fleeting. Flickering lights of the fireplace made their silhouettes dance, as they lay entwined, bare and sweating. Sweat, that was all he smelled of, sweat and faint whiffs of leather. With Buckingham it was always sweetness, powder and magnolias, and Athos nose no longer found it cloying. He tried not to pay the acquired taste any mind. Underneath him Buckingham moaned, screamed, but good servants knew when to suffer deafness. Athos leaned down, and let his mouth brush against the duke’s lips, seeking to part them. Buckingham looked up, and tilted his head, and in swift movement had his tongue pressed to Athos’ throat; licking, biting. It occurred to Athos much later that perhaps the gesture was never meant to reciprocate anything, only to escape it.

The third kiss was mundane. Buckingham drew himself closer for warmth, when the old sheets on Athos’ bed wouldn’t serve the function. He complained of them, complained of the cold and the dust and the drabness; of all the comforts that failed him, in that small room in Paris. Athos remarked that the duke must crave such discomforts in secret, else he’d hardly cross an ocean to disturb the musketeer in his own home. Buckingham declared that he would cross with new bedding in tow, next time. He kissed Athos’ forehead, and went to sleep.

The fourth kiss was sweet, like the wine on their lips. One cup had followed another, and the next, and the next. Athos was accustomed to deeper bottles, but Buckingham’s cheeks were flushed red, his laughter loud and unbidden. He straddled the musketeer then, and grinned against his lips, before kissing them warm and wet and unrestrained. The duke mastered his tongue poorly that night, so poorly that he allowed it to lament dolefully what a fool an Englishman must be to let himself become so smitten with a musketeer. Buckingham would forget by morning, and Athos would wonder if he ought to do the same.

The fifth kiss almost was. “Don’t go,” Athos said, just as their lips were about to touch. Buckingham laughed and withdrew. He laughed and grinned through the musketeer’s concern, the boyish smiles of a fool who could not, would not, tell war and rebellion from games and adventure. But even in France Athos sensed the other country’s coming storm , the voices of England’s people tumultuous and dissatisfied, like the low rumbling of thunder. And Buckingham had a way of attracting lightning. Cheerfully he promised Athos their fifth kiss upon his return, and grandly he promised a sixth and seventh, promised as many as the musketeer could endure. He left for Portsmouth that same day. The fifth kiss never was.


End file.
